The Faded Portrait
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, deliberate curtain of grey water that turned the cobblestones of the Abbey of Saint Jude’s into a slick, black mirror reflecting the trembling candles of the night watch, and it was within this damp, echoing silence that Brother Thomas stood before the Great Hall, his hands trembling not from the cold, which had seeped into his bones like...
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